


Walking On The Moon

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Insecurity, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:44:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: We could walk foreverWalking on the moonWe could live togetherWalking on, walking on the moon.—Sometimes, no matter how hard you work for something, you end up failing.  And that's ok.





	Walking On The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Tittle and summary come from a The Police song named [Walking on the moon](https://youtu.be/zPwMdZOlPo8)
> 
> _This fic is a gift for my babu son's bday!!!! I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!_
> 
> I tried proofreading it on my own, but as I'm writing these beginning notes it happens to be almost 3am, so my eyes are kinda... not cooperating a lot. If any of you happen to find any kind of mistakes (mostly typos), please let me know! That being said, I hope you enjoy this story~

 

 

**WALKING ON THE MOON**

 

 

   Rain falls down from the sky and rolls down his skin like small diamond beads.  It drenches his hair and his clothes, collects inside his shoes, making bone shivering cold seep through his wet toes.

   But it makes him laugh.

_  It makes him laugh. _

   And he doesn’t want to go back inside and face the millions of frustrations he had to put on hold the moment he realized the storm had come rushing in, imposing its stay on his life for a few hours at least.  He doesn’t want to go back inside and face the truth that he’ll never be the best not even when he’s giving his all.  His handwritten notes are messy and incomplete from when he had fallen asleep in class —pulling so many all-nighters in a row was taking a toll on him now.  He can barely understand his own words and he often trips over his own shadow.

   Whatever, he thinks.  I’ll make it to the top someday.  Perhaps.  Maybe.

 

   What’s not being competitive like, he wonders, though he knows it’s in vain.  It’s just how he’s always been.  Trying to change now would simply add more reasons to be angry at himself at the moment, and he really doesn’t want more of that.  He’s tired.  He’s getting so, so tired.

   So he laughs.  He laughs and laughs under the rain; some people walking by look at him strangely.  Little Rosie from 4-A runs from the entrance of the building towards where he’s standing, donning a blue raincoat with little cats printed all over it and her yellow rainboots, tugging on his hand while insisting they have to start doing rounds as they sing a song so old, he thinks it’s part of everybody’s memories by now.  Her mom stands under the safety of the entrance’s small roof, looking at them with a fond smile.

   Who cares about impending frustrations when children look at you like you mean the world to them, right?

 

—

 

   Once again he’s number two.

   Thorns grow in his chest as he glares at his class’ charts.  He had done everything, he had read everything, studied for days on end, and it hadn’t been enough.  _  He hadn’t been enough _ .  The name printed above his own mocked him, teased him.  His knuckles were white from how tight his fists were closed, his teeth were digging into his bottom lip, what had he done wrong, what had been lacking, what does he have to improve?  But he cannot improve his own brain—perhaps he’s just  _ not that smart _ .  Others around him celebrate having passed without even glancing at the higher grades, and here he is, being so stuck on his own bitterness that he no longer knows if he can taste anything else at the back of his throat.

   Perhaps if his older siblings hadn’t been the best at fucking everything, perhaps if his parents weren’t always pushing him to be just like the others had been… perhaps then he could allow himself to relax.  But he has so many expectations on his shoulders that he dreads the moment he lets them slump downwards, not wanting to be crushed underneath such heavy weights.

  
  


   “Do you think that the me from alternate realities is better at stuff than me?” He asks his friend as he throws himself face-first on her bed.

   “Lance,” Katie—no,  _ sorry _ , Pidge, she hates being called by her name— groans, rolling her eyes, “you’re damn good already, why are you so obsessed with being better than that mullet-guy?”

   He shifts on top of the covers before turning to rest on his side, face still half-buried into the comfortable pillow.  

   “I don’t know anymore,” he says before sighing, “By now my parents surely understand that I’ll never be like my siblings, I guess… right?”

   “Why are you always trying to please them, anyway? You’re not a child anymore.”

   “I know,” Lance exhales softly, pressing a hand to his eyes before dragging it downwards and laying on his back, “I know, _ I know _ .  I just can’t help it.  I want to please them.  I want them to be proud.  I just don’t get why it is so fucking hard, you know… it shouldn’t be so hard…”

   Pidge finally looks at him as she sets her book down on her desk.  They stay silent for a moment that is gone after a beat.  She stands up from her chair and marches towards her bed.

   “Move your bony ass,” she says, not even waiting for Lance to actually do anything before throwing herself on top of the mattress, “mooooove!”

   “ _ Oh my god _ ,” Lance laughs, ignoring the sharp stab of Pidge’s elbow on the center of his chest and her knee digging into his thigh, “I’m moving, you gremlin—I can’t believe—”

 

   They lay there for who knows how long.  

   They stay there even after the sound of their laughter has faded and there’s no other noise besides the ones filtering through the ajar window, and, for a moment, they both feel perfectly calm.

 

—

 

   Classes start again and the bane of his existence is still there, sharing the same rooms with him.  Perhaps it’s some kind of sign, Lance thinks as he keeps his blue eyes glued to his notebook, scribbling nonsensical doodles on the margins of the striped paper.  Black ink flows from the pen in an almost completely fluid streak, and mini galaxies come to life by the grace of his own hand.

   He draws Neptune with its fourteen moons, he draws a small asteroid before moving onto drawing as many stars as he can before class begins.  He enjoys the peace the task brings him, likes that it gives him an excuse to not talk to anybody on those days he truly doesn’t feel like being too social.  Other students come and go all around him, the telltale screech of chairs being dragged against the hard floor mixes in with the different voices that intermingle with each other until they all are indistinguishable.  To some all the noises could be too much, but Lance thrives best when he’s surrounded by sound, by music.  Silence is often oppressive for him, even though he can sometimes tolerate it.

   Someone sits on the chair by his side that hadn’t been occupied by his bag.  Lance isn’t really paying attention, he has switched to a blue ink pen to add detail to his depiction of Neptune.  He’s sure he’s smiling on the same level he just knows he’s breathing.  If he looks like a fool, he doesn’t care.

   “So, uh,” the person sitting by his side begins talking, “you like space too?”

   Lifting his head, his hand comes to a natural stop, tip of the pen hovering above the paper, and he turns to look at whoever is talking to him now.  And then he blinks once, twice, his brain slow to catch up, thoughts still partially travelling through galaxies and supernova stars and all the magic hidden within.  He knows this classmate, knows him more than well, and his grip on his pen tightens instinctively.

   “I do,” Lance replies, blue eyes hard though confused.

   “Cool,” Keith says next, looking mildly uncomfortable, like he doesn’t fit in his own skin.

   The professor walks in just then.  The air around them tenses for a moment until Keith turns his attention to the front of the room, though Lance is left levitating aimlessly on his orbit.

 

   Perhaps Keith never got the memo that they’re supposed to be competing each other for the place at the top?  Has Keith never seen him as competition?  Lance can tell the class is going on yet his brain is still stuck on the moments before it had begun.  He tries his best to take notes, though more often than not he’s unable to finish the ideas, gets lost in random words and then can’t find his way back to the present.

   It makes him frustrated.  It makes him want to rip the paper and crumple it up within the confines of his fist.  Was he not good enough to be considered a rival?  Was he not smart enou—but wait, he already knows the answer to that.   _ Of course he is not smart enough _ .  If he were, he would’ve been at the top more than once, right?

   Class ends—two hours went by already— and he moves as fast as he can to get his belongings inside his bag and rush out of the room.  He’s planning on going back to his small rented flat and skip the rest of the day, he already knows he won’t be able to get anything done when his frustration levels are so high.  As much as he loves noise, he loves it when it’s external.  There are so many voices inside his head now, all clashing with each other, all screaming at him and mocking him, that all his energy goes to fighting back his need to cry.

   If there is something he won’t ever do, that is crying in public.

 

   Still fiddling with the straps of his bag, he’s almost running down the first flight of stairs when he hears someone calling for him.  He has no time, though, he’s just so tired of being second best.  Why can’t he ever be good enough?

   His heart’s in his throat and he notices that his knees aren’t answering him just like he wishes they would.  He’s busy remembering the look in his mother’s eyes when she was looking at his grades just a few days prior, that look he would never forget, that look that said it all.   _ “You can do so much better” _ were the words that had never met the air yet they had no need to.  The message had always been loud and clear.

   “Hey, wait!”  Keith tries to beckon him but Lance is too set on leaving.

   He feels like a fool for the way he’s reacting to everything.  Hell, he  _ knows  _ he’s a fool, but  _ what else can he do _ .  He doesn’t even know if he’s here because he actually likes what he’s doing.  He no longer knows if he keeps trying because he likes it or because it is what everybody is expecting of him.

   “Hey!”  Keith’s voice sounds closer than before and it makes him shiver.  He doesn’t even want to know what mullet-guy wants, he just wants to—

 

   He yelps before he fully registers what’s even happening.  All that he notices is that the world around him becomes blurred and images move too fast.  But then he’s suddenly on the floor, the edge of the stair’s last step is digging into his back and his ankle hurts; absentmindedly he realizes that he has fallen down the last couple of steps in front of so many strangers—it makes the buzzing inside his head increase so fast he’s sure his skull is about to explode, and his brain will end up scattered all over the hall.

   Ridiculous.  He’s nothing else but a ridiculous excuse for a student.  He shouldn’t even be here, he knows, he doesn’t belong in this world, not when he is  _ just so dumb _ .  He bites his lip and closes his eyes tightly for just a moment, taking a deep breath and willing his tears to stop trying to spill for everybody to see.  Keith is by his side now, kneeling right besides him, and Lance can feel one of his hands tentatively reaching out to rest on his shoulder.

   “Are you ok?”  Keith asks, and when Lance opens his eyes again to look at him he notices just how worried he looks.

_  I don’t deserve this _ , his inner voice spats out, full of venom.

   “Can you stand?” Keith insists.  He nods at that, though still accepts the other’s offered hand as he pushes himself up to his feet.

   “I just tripped,” he mumbles, doing his best to ignore the dull pain coming from his ankle.  “I’m fine.”

   Keith doesn’t look convinced.  Luckily, he doesn’t push it further—does he feel pity?  The unwanted question makes rage boil within his chest.  None of his feelings are directed towards his classmate, though, and that makes breathing a bit harder.  He can only blame himself.

 

   “You, uh,” Keith sounds unsure as he shows Lance the reason he went after him, “forgot your jacket back at the classroom.  I thought I’d better give it to you now.  It’s cold today.”

   The words and actions make Lance blink several times in quick succession.  Before he can stop himself, a strained, unbelieving chuckle erupts from within his lips, and he can tell he’s blushing because his cheeks suddenly feel warmer than before.   _ Oh man, this was hilarious _ .

   “Thanks,” he says as he grabs his jacket, holding it against his chest, “I didn’t even realize I didn’t have it with me.”

   “You seemed to be in a rush,” Keith comments with a slight shrug, leaning on his left side and balancing the two straps of his own bag over the right shoulder.  “Uhm, are you… attending professor Holt’s class next?”

   “I was,” Lance replies without thinking, only to bite the corner of his bottom lip afterwards.  The noise inside his head has receded to be replaced by encompassing waves of the darkest waters, and his thoughts are slowly drowning.  He doesn’t like where his mind is taking him.  “But I don’t feel too good.  Can you sign the attendance sheet for me?”

   Keith blinks once before replying.  “Sure,” he says, sounding a bit disappointed.  “I’ll... see you tomorrow?”

   Thorns dig into Lance’s lungs and diaphragm.  His smile only falters for a second.

   “Sure,” is his reply, “see you tomorrow.”

 

   No matter how hard he tries, he can never bring himself to hate Keith.  And that only kills him further.

 

—

 

   “What’s most interesting about this passage,” the professor’s talking with too much enthusiasm, and it helps Lance stay awake, “is that the destiny of these two characters has been sealed the moment they call each other by their names.  You know they won’t be able to avoid what’s to happen next when they do so, whether privately, when they are talking to others, or right to each other’s faces.”

_ Huh _ , that’s an interesting thought.

   When has he stopped calling Keith ‘mullet-guy’ to instead call him  _ just  _ Keith?

 

   He leans back on his chair, allowing himself a moment of relaxation as the professor goes on and on about the same topic.  He taps his pen against the striped sheet a couple of times.  The clock on his wrist tells him there are only forty minutes left before the class ends.  Stretching his long legs for a moment, he lets out a soft sigh while slowly rolling his shoulders, trying to get rid of the ever present tension in them.  Keith squirms in his seat by his side and it makes Lance look at him questioningly, only to find that the other had been looking at him the entire time.

   For some reason neither looks away first, both caught up in a gravitational pull that makes them circle each other’s presence, until the rattling noise of a heavy book falling to the floor startles them.  His cheeks growing warmer, Lance fixes his eyes on the person at the front of the room once more.  Well.  That had been weird.

   He wonders if Keith thinks the same.

 

—

 

   “How are classes going?” Shiro asks with a smile as he writes down a list before they both go shopping for groceries.  The list is honestly longer than the two of them would’ve expected—maybe they needed to start doing this more often than just every time they run out of anything destined for human consumption.

   “Fine, I guess,” Keith replies, leaning against the frame of the open entrance to the kitchen, fiddling with the straps of his hoodie.  “I, uh, started talking to a classmate.”

   “Oooh, really?” The teasing tone in Shiro’s voice is extremely hard to miss, “That’s something new.  Is he a cryptid or something?  Does this classmate actually exist?”

   “Oh, shut up!” He huffs, cheeks flaming up and turning bright red, “Just because I don’t talk to every single person around me that doesn’t mean I can’t socialize!”

   “Are you sure about that?” Shiro chuckles, writing down one last item before folding the scrap of paper in two and shoving it in his jeans’ pocket.  “I think we both still remember what happened at Allura’s—”

   Groaning, Keith turns around and marches towards the main door, grabbing his jacket on the way.  

   “Whatever,” he says, the red of his cheeks not subsiding, “you’re always insisting that I should try to make friends, so I thought it’d be something you’d like to hear.  If you’re just going to tease me, then—”

   “Wait, wait, wait,” Shiro laughs merrily, grabbing his keys and wallet before putting on his coat, “I do want to know more about this mysterious being.  My brother, talking to someone... this is an important event!”

   “That’s it,” yanking open the front door, Keith doesn’t wait for Shiro to catch up as he stalks down the corridor towards the stairs.  “I will send Allura those pictures I took the other day, you won’t be as smug after that.”

   Shiro almost stumbles on his way out.  Making sure to lock the door, he then rushes after the younger man, a faint blush dusting across his cheekbones.

   “You wouldn’t dare—I swear to god, Keith, if you do that—”

   “She would be eternally thankful to me, I know,” he grins wolfishly, already taking out his phone and unlocking the screen.  “I might as well send them now!”

   “Keith! Give me that!” Descending the stairs two steps at a time, Shiro finally catches up to his brother, making an almost desperate lunge for the device.  “You promised you’d delete them!”

   “I did not!”  Keith laughs, moving out of range just in time, keeping a tight grip on his phone.

   The main entrance of the building opens just then, and the old lady living on the floor above them walks in, scarf wrapped around her neck and covering part of her shoulders.  The two of them freeze on their spots, both sporting caught expressions, and the lady just has to look at them once to start giggling, shaking her head fondly.

   “It’s cold outside,” she comments as she bypasses them and heads towards the elevator, “have a good night, boys.”

   “You too, miss Bradford,” Shiro replies without missing a beat, still embarrassed, the tips of his ears clearly red.

   “Oh please,” the old lady says then, “call me Elaine, sweetheart.”

  
  


   It was indeed cold.  Keith grins teasingly as he shoves his hands in his pockets, casually bumping into his brother while they walk the few blocks from their place to the nearest store.  Shiro refuses to look at him, though.

   “ _ Sweetheart _ , eh?” He laughs, enjoying the way it makes the other twitch, “Wow Shiro, I didn’t know you were out there wooing grandmas!”

   “Oh god,” Shiro groans miserably, “please don’t say wooing…”

   “Should it be  _ canoodling _ , then?”

   When the older man almost tripped at that, Keith exploded into contagious laughter.  The stranger walking ahead of them turned to look at them once before hurrying their steps, but neither noticed.

   “Tell me about your classmate, will you,” Shiro begs, face completely red, as he pushes open the door to the store, letting Keith inside first.

   “Alright, alright,” Keith says while tugging down the zipper of his jacket, “his name’s Lance-”

 

—

 

   Becoming friends hadn’t been part of the plan.

   If he had to be honest, nothing had been part of the plan.  Not that he’d had one to begin with.

   Him being unable to live up to his parent’s expectations, him being stuck at second best, Keith talking to him because he had decided to doodle Neptune and its fourteen moons, them slowly becoming friends…  The first time he had seen his name printed right underneath Keith’s, he had never imagined this would be how they’d end up.  He guesses it is yet another thing he had always been wrong about.  After all, he knows for sure that almost everything he had once thought of as certain turned out to be nothing but popped balloons and clouds full of air.  Not even the storm was there to wash away the dirt his shadow casted on the ground.

_ This is all I can give _ , Lance thinks, a sad smile splayed on his lips, as he watches Keith stumble over his words while approaching Hunk for the first time.  He tries his best to leave aside the imprint of his father’s harsh words earlier that day, at least for that moment.   _ I already know my siblings did better _ , he remembers his own reply perfectly, and he starts tasting bitterness at the back of his throat,  _ but this is all I can give _ . 

_  We only want the best for you _ , his mother added after that,  _ we know you’re so capable.  If only you’d stopped fucking around _ , his father scoffed, disdain dripping freely from his thick lips,  _ I always knew that letting you live alone was a bad idea.  You aren’t mature enough.  You should come back to living under our roof, you will surely stop wasting your time doing god knows what after that _ .

_  Shut up _ , Lance wishes he had had enough courage to say,  _ shut up, shut up, shut up.  I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, I’m mature enough— _

   His own inner voice mocks him.  This is a battle he will never win.

 

   Pidge casually leans against his side.  She’s not looking at him, but Lance knows that, as always, she has read through him just like she reads codes.

   “You look miserable,” she comments idly, smiling softly when the other rests his arm around her shoulders.

   “You know me,” Lance replies, sniffling once, “handsome and miserable, a true ladies’ man.”

   “I’m not so sure about that last thing,” Pidge chuckles while shrugging once, “but you don’t have to keep it all to yourself, you know?”

   “Aww, see?” He says, teasingly poking the short girl’s cheek, “You do have a heart!”

   “Damn it, you idiot—”

   A beaming Hunk turns towards them then, Keith following right behind him, so the two of them redirect their attention towards their friends.  They start making plans for the weekend and it makes Lance feel both relieved and tense at the same time.

 

   He knows it’s what he needs, he knows that if he goes on for so long without having actual fun, he’ll go crazy with his building frustrations.  But his parent’s words are at the forefront of his mind, and without noticing he’s suddenly on edge, about to open his mouth to blurt out some kind of excuse that would satisfy his friends when he tells them he won’t be able to join.

   But then Keith’s at his side and he gives him a small smile.

   “So?” He asks, crossing his arms in a casual manner and looking at him with expectant eyes, “What do you think?”

   “Huh?” Lance blinks once, twice, surprised that the other managed to pull him out of his thoughts so swiftly.

   “About the plans—,” Keith says, “weren’t you listening?”

   “We are going out for a few drinks at that bar I told you about the other day!” Hunk is quick to explain, never losing his enthusiasm, “I went there the other day with Shay and they have pool tables! Also, the beer they sell there is, like, so tasty.  You’re gonna love it!”

   “Sounds like a plan, then,” Lance grins, this time leaning against Keith and letting go of Pidge so he could casually hang his arm around the other’s shoulders.  “I’m  _ so  _ gonna beat you at pool, buddy!”

   Keith spluttered at the sudden physical contact, cheeks turning a faint shade of red that looked adorable on him.

   “What— you’ll see!” He huffed, though he was smiling as well, staring directly into Lance’s electric blue eyes, “I’ll beat you and whoever will be on your team!”

   “Uh, buddy,” Hunk laughs, shaking his head, “I doubt so.  Pidge and Lance as a team are, like,  _ unbeatable _ .  Trust me.”

   “Don’t worry, Keith,” Pidge says, smile wide and mischievous, “we won’t hold back.”

 

—

 

   Hunk had been right.

   Lance totally loved the bar.  Actually, all of them had loved the bar so much that they ended up staying until closing hours.  It had been a while since he had managed to truly let go of the phantoms of expectations placed above his head.  He wasn’t fool enough to trick himself into believing that he wouldn’t regret going out the next morning, but right then, right at that moment, he could pretend that everything was going to be fine.

   With his friends by his side it was startlingly easy to do so.

 

   If only he could stretch out the night to make it go on forever, then he’d never have to depart from the stars above him dotting the night sky.

 

   He lets out a breath through his lips chapped from the cold wind, watching with mild interest how it fogged up in front of his eyes before dissipating completely.  The tip of his nose is freezing, he sniffles as he tucks his hands in the pockets of his oversized faux-leather jacket.  It didn’t really do much against the cold, but he had worn it to look good.  Perhaps he should’ve brought a scarf, even though that would’ve beaten the purpose of trying to appear cool.

   Pidge and Hunk are walking a few steps ahead, the two of them bickering back and forth animatedly.  Alcohol always does that to them: they turn into unstoppable forces to be reckoned with.  He isn’t sure what kind of drunk he himself is, though.  Perhaps a melancholic one?  Ah, well… he doesn’t really care.

   Keith is silent by his side, fingerless gloves doing nothing to fight the weather so his hands are also within the safety of by now warm pockets.  Neither of them say anything, they don’t really need to, not yet.  Lance looks at him and can’t help but wonder what’s going inside his head.  His awful haircut doesn’t look that bad when winter wind sweeps through it, but that, maybe, is the beer talking.  

   Neither of them are truly paying attention to where their feet connect with the ground.  There’s something bubbling and trying to blossom between them, Lance can feel it with so much precision that there’s no room left for doubts.  It’s there, palpable in the space connecting them as they walk almost in sync, an energy that’s filled with many  _ what if _ ’s, numerous  _ if only _ ’s, a handful of  _ perhaps i should _ ’s.  But Lance is tired.  He is tired of being tired as much as he is tired of being all the things that he is.  Does he want this?  Does he deserve this?  Does he get to have this?

   He wonders in what kind of universe, of alternate dimension, he is somehow never number two.  He wonders if there is a version of himself that is granted the place of glory, that place he’s been working so hard to earn but can only merely brush it with trembling fingertips.  And here, by his side, is the one person stopping him from getting the one thing he’s been trying to get right in all his life.  It would appease his parents, it would shake away some of the always corrupting frustrations.  But he’s not meant to get it right.

 

   Keith blinks slowly and Lance follows the movement of his eyelids, watches greedily how dark eyelashes come down for a moment before going back up.  There’s eternal grace even in such unconscious movement.

   But then Keith turns to look at him and Lance guesses this is one of those big “ _ oh shit _ ” moments everybody talks about.  Those moments you can feel the world tilting off its axis to rearrange into a new position, that instant gravity all around you shifts for one second too long.  He’s sure it’s all on the alcohol still running through his blood when his blue eyes linger on Keith’s lips for a moment before snapping back towards the other’s gaze.  The something bubbling between them blossoms and it steals his breath away.  There’s a moment of beauty and promises, and the two of them have stopped walking at the same time.

   Up ahead, Hunk and Pidge don’t even notice they’ve fallen behind.  Their loud bickering is descending into a murmur.  The streetlight above them flickers once, twice, and in the span between one flickering and the other Keith is suddenly closer than what he was before.

   Lance can feel that something blossoming.  Panic rises from deep within and the very same ice of Neptune snaps the moment in two.

   He can’t have this.

 

   “It’s cold, isn’t it?” He says while forcing a smile, shuffling a little on the spot he’s standing.

   Keith seems lost and out of words to say.

_ Good _ , Lance thinks.   _ At least now I’m not the only one _ .

 

—

 

   A month goes by and they are all buried in texts and at least three essays that are due within the next four days.  They form a study group that, surprisingly, works more than fine.  None of them had ever managed to do so much in the same span of time before.

 

   Every now and then Keith looks at him like he had hung up the moon.  Lance doesn’t know what to think of that.

   So he doesn’t.

 

°°°


End file.
